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When Glen first talked about twenty-six acres of orange groves it took a little getting used to such a sudden change in our lives. It was such an odd idea, and at the time I had no real notion of what it would be like.

But I admit to being happy when he bought them. I knew he was frustrated working downtown. I knew that wasn't what he wanted and it was such a long drive from the suburbs. And so many men made that drive. In the beginning I wanted this for Glen.

There was a large, Spanish house on the property, set back from the road and secluded by palms and orange trees. It was a beautiful house with thick walls and a red tiled roof. It had a portico. It had much more charm than I expected.

I have been in only one other house where I admired the master bedroom more. With our porch, and the fireplace, and the fragrance of orange blossoms in April, there were times when I really wouldn't have wanted anything more than love-making or a glass of sherry. And there were clear, warm mornings that simply presented themselves. I would brush my hair in front of the vanity. And the mountains stood still all day.

I learned to care about oranges. Given a little time, I knew something about them. It seemed Glen loved them from the start and when a frost came without warning I'd always wake to find him missing from bed. How he knew....

But I've never adjusted to the eucalyptus dwarfing the groves. They look so old, and their trunks are so forlorn, and the way they divide the groves and the ranches makes me feel like secrets are impossible. Everything is protected but poorly hidden. Even when a ranch hand runs a pickup off the road on a black Saturday night, it doesn't show. But everyone knows the tree and the death lingers for a long time.

And yet the orange trees are much larger than me, although you wouldn't think so standing on the portico. It's a misleading view. And the seedlings grow faster than my children and they bear fruit so quickly and so quietly that I lie awake sometimes at night and think about them growing. There is something about it that is not right, that brings days when I feel like the wife of a caretaker. The oranges are what is important.

The oranges. If you pick them at the right time, the juice is like nothing you can get in town.